A young disciple of discipline is just,
trying to dissipate negative traits.
Hesitations of change are often in frame
but most balloons don't fly straight.
Instead there's the choice of multiple fates,
played upon through invisible games.
Who is listening, we're nowhere near finished yet, when the drifter remains in stages to claim.

Draw upon those who have taught you before, are these new lessons or echoes restored in repetition.
Persistent tricks formed from stubborn habits, hidden in-kind to the back of our brains, where a complete disregard is often retained.
Try observing yourself through the eyes of others, are you sure we're the same when shuffling states.

Beyond meaning, and the Eternal Beauty breathes through me.
The difference between those who have found no meaning or care for no meaning, and I who go beyond meaning isn't important.
But is apparent in their manifest mindfulness.

How can an understanding raised and developed with words cognize what is beyond words?
How can attention directed from an infantile stage be made aware "beyond direction"?
As the very word 'beyond' gives meaning and direction.

Thought will ever meander in these webs if it is not given a sound as a vehicle to harmoniously dive beyond these intricacies.
Whoever gives you this sound will be in charge of your dive.
My sound is thus spontaneous.
Like scatting with soothing syllables.
A silent mind is defective because thoughts form, which is fine if you want to know your thoughts.
But since thoughts continue to arise, the mind naturally wishes to siphon them off to return to silence.
The siphoning itself creates a mental frequency.
...
"Selling" sounds to think is like moving thought from the ground to flying into outer space.

Any way to teach meditation is obsolete when the mind changes.
The teachings are relative though they speak of spiritual matters.
It is every person's unique journey, meditation is.
Thus, I come back to "just observe".

She sat on the park bench
basking in the afternoon sun,
when a brown ripe oaknut landed on her lap.

She gazed at it without distraction,
Its colour, shape, symmetry-filled her with immense satisfaction.
The English Oak tree had crafted it with perfection.

Clearly, it was there with a message-

You will take a lifetime,
to truly know my nature.
How could you ever get bored,
when there is creator’s magic everywhere.

Systems cease
organic beast
lies ever still.

Memory remains
observing stains
of the ****.